


Catalyst

by RoseHarperMaxwell



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anxiety, Auror Draco Malfoy, Best Friends, Broken Engagement, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Friends to Lovers, Good Ron Weasley, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Harry Potter is a Good Friend, Healer Hermione Granger, Light Angst, Minor Neville Longbottom/Pansy Parkinson, Minor Theodore Nott/Harry Potter, Movie Night, Pining Draco Malfoy, Porn With Plot, Praise Kink, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-02
Updated: 2020-08-02
Packaged: 2021-03-05 21:01:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,937
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25601773
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RoseHarperMaxwell/pseuds/RoseHarperMaxwell
Summary: Six years after the war, Hermione has a challenging career and fulfilling friendships, and movie nights with Draco are the highlight of her week. But her impending marriage to Ron fills her with increasing anxiety.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Comments: 111
Kudos: 662
Collections: 2020 Sounds Like Dramione





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by Anonymous in the [2020SoundsLikeDramione](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/2020SoundsLikeDramione) collection. 



> Written for the [Dramione FanFiction Forum](https://www.facebook.com/groups/DramioneFanFictionForum/) 2020 Sounds Like Dramione competition.
> 
> Winner: All You Need is Love (Best Romance)  
> Runner Up: The Sweetest Thing (Best Fluff), Runner Up: Sex & Candy (Best Smut), Runner Up: The Perfect Fan (Fan Favourite), Runner Up: Friends in Low Places (Admin Favourite)
> 
> Disclaimer: The characters do not belong to me but are the property of J.K.R. and Warner Bros. No copyright infringement is intended. 
> 
> Thank you to my alpha and/or beta for their time and help.
> 
> **Prompt:**
> 
> "Fingertips puttin' on a show  
> Got me now and I can't say no  
> Wanna be with you all alone  
> Take me home, take me home  
> Fingertips puttin' on a show  
> Can't you tell that I want you, baby, yeah"
> 
> Slow Hands - Niall Horan

If Draco had been a better bowler, movie night might never have come about at all.

Ron was a surprisingly spectacular bowler. His approximation of a gobbling turkey strut every time he achieved three consecutive strikes made Hermione cringe with vicarious embarrassment, but he marveled at an activity in which no one in his life outshone him. Auror League Bowling on Tuesday nights should have been exceptionally satisfying for him.

Unfortunately, Draco was inexplicably dreadful. His lean athleticism and Quidditch-sharp reflexes apparently didn’t translate to bowling. It had gone without question that he’d be on Harry and Ron’s team—they’d gotten on well during three years of training, and Hermione suspected they'd missed each other once they partnered with more experienced Aurors.

But when Draco seemed to throw a gutterball for every one of Ron’s strikes, snatching rightful glory from their team every week, they started sniping at one another like second years.

Hermione’s own friendship with Draco had blossomed after his trial, at which she’d volunteered to act as a ministry-approved sponsor during their eighth year. This had shocked everyone—she suspected the Wizengamot offered the option as a formality—but she'd never believed he deserved Azkaban. She privately related to Draco, as they’d each made impossible choices to protect their parents.

When they set about rebuilding Hogwarts, he gave her a humble thank you and sincere apology, and she gave him a fresh start. He was still snarky, but his ideology was genuinely changed. Hermione gently introduced him to the Muggle world, and their friendship grew through mutual appreciation of quick wit and intelligence. She was pleased to sign off on his rehabilitation, and she lobbied hard for him to be able to join the DMLE.

The eighth years had lived commingled at Hogwarts, and Hermione and Draco's friendship facilitated a surprising degree of lasting inter-house camaraderie. Standing Friday nights at the Leaky always included a healthy mix of Slytherins. After graduation, Pansy bought Harry a firewhiskey and toasted “The Git Who Lived to Graduate,” taking a sip first to show good faith. Draco moved out of the manor, thriving as he came into his own during his father's short sentence. Theo was accepted into the healer program alongside Hermione, and in him, she finally found someone who embraced her color-coded study guides. Blaise moved to Italy, but even he showed up to celebrate when the trainees became Junior Aurors two years ago, and he’d kissed Hermione on both cheeks after Ron proposed in front of everyone that night.

So when bowling league tension threatened to disrupt more than five years of harmonious social balance, Hermione was eager to problem solve. While she was glad Ron enjoyed his new hobby, it was even less exciting than Quidditch, and she was tired of petulant whining about losses.

When she suggested Draco spare them all by dropping out of the league to have movie nights with her instead, she wasn’t sure which of her three favorite Aurors was most grateful.

* * *

_Tuesday, June 29, 2004_

A few months after Hermione instituted movie night, she accepted a kiss on the cheek from Ron and a hug from Harry before they left for pre-league drinks.

“Don’t overindulge, please. The turkey dance is less amusing in our living room.”

Draco heard them over the sound of popcorn from the kitchen. “Oh, Weasley, did I forget to tell you? Goldstein has to leave early, so I’ll be through later to stand in for him.”

Harry pushed a sputtering Ron through the Floo, and Hermione settled into the sofa. “You’re terrible,” she informed Draco.

“He’s too easy,” he said. He dimmed the room with a wandless _Nox_ and placed the popcorn between them. “I’ve been looking forward to this dragon film all week.”

Hermione gave a long-suffering sigh. “Dinosaurs, Draco. _Dinosaurs._ ”

She caught a glimpse of barely concealed smirk, and lobbed a handful of popcorn at him. “You really are the worst.”

“You’re easy, too.”

Draco was an excellent movie companion. He was incapable of watching silently, but candid commentary from a wizard who’d grown up with minimal non-magical experience was endlessly entertaining. Hermione relished being Draco’s guide through the Muggle experience.

“What are they... No. No, no! Why are they getting out of the automobile, Granger? Don’t get out of the automobile!” He shoved the popcorn away and leaned forward, elbows on knees. “Did they not see what happened to the cow? They should be listening to that healer, Malcolm. He’s clearly the only one with any sense.”

“He’s not a healer. He’s a scientist. People with very high academic degrees in many fields have the title of doctor. It means they can teach what they studied.”

“Well, that’s very confusing.” He paused the movie, then turned sideways on the sofa and regarded her seriously. “Are Muggles...can they actually do this?”

She schooled her face in a carefully blank expression. “Do what?”

“You know.” He gestured toward the glowing screen, inexplicably whispering. _“Make dinosaurs.”_

She tried to keep a straight face as she nodded grimly, but when he looked appalled, the corner of her mouth turned up. “No, Draco. The DNA would be too far degraded by now, and they can’t just fill in the blanks with other species that way. Among other issues.” She poured them each more wine. "You’re safe from the tyrannosaurus.”

“You’re cruel, Granger.” He unpaused the movie. “Besides, those raptors are clearly the more dangerous ones. Clever, sneaky things.”

“Yes, they’re the Slytherins to the T-rex’s Gryffindor.” Despite her teasing, he relaxed significantly, and she suspected it had more to do with the enduring extinction of dinosaurs than he’d admit.

Afterward, Hermione summoned her laptop so they could add to the list of movies they'd watched. Draco ranked them by his enjoyment level. Nothing else they'd seen so far topped Jurassic Park: “It’s brilliant. I don’t understand how they made it without magic.”

They'd seen quite a few movies by now, and Draco had become a sharp critic. A League of Their Own: "She absolutely dropped the ball on purpose, Granger, and she should have ended up with that Duggan bloke." Titanic: "That door’s big enough for TWO, you ungrateful bint!" Silence of the Lambs: "Fuck. He WORE the FACE, Granger. He wore the fucking face."

But alongside his visceral reactions, thoughtful conversation—about gender roles, socioeconomic status, psychology—accompanied each film. Hermione loved everything about these evenings, and they were the best part of her week.

She was contemplating how surreal it felt to watch Draco Malfoy's nimble fingers typing when Ron stumbled through the Floo. He had one arm slung around Harry, apparently the only thing keeping him upright.

“Heeyyy, Malfoy,” Ron slurred. He shoved off of Harry, wobbling precariously, and then folded his arms into loosely flapping wings. He squinted in the general direction of the sofa. “Gobble gobble, motherfucker.”

Draco nodded patiently, as though this were completely expected. “So you won, then.”

Harry gave Hermione a sheepish grin. “He bowled a really great game. He might have celebrated a little too much. I’ll put him to bed.” Ron blearily repeated a number—presumably his score—as Harry prodded him up the stairs.

"Christ." Draco carried the bowl to the kitchen and washed it by hand. "I thought Astoria's latest girl’s night gossip was going to be unpleasant, but you win."

Hermione sighed. "Bowling just makes him feel good about himself. He'll sleep it off." She suddenly felt exhausted herself.

"No sober-up?"

Hermione snorted. "Not that I plan to administer. A little suffering might remind him to celebrate less next time."

"Maybe." Draco pulled her into a hug, and she leaned into him tiredly. His spicy, citrusy scent was warm and familiar. "He should know he's got more than bowling to feel good about."

Before that statement could roll around in her head, Draco released her. "Thanks for the movie, Granger. Goodnight."

* * *

Hermione saw Harry off as well before she closed herself in the bathroom. She stared in the mirror and felt the underlying thrum of anxiety that had grown more persistent as her wedding day approached. No matter how much she tried to convince herself it was cold feet, the voice in her head reminded her she’d felt off about marrying Ron since the very public moment he proposed.

She felt guilty about her ambivalence. If she didn't feel strongly about a future with him, she shouldn’t have stayed with him so long. Shouldn’t have moved into a flat with him fresh out of school. Certainly shouldn’t have accepted his proposal. Definitely should've nipped things in the bud much earlier, just like she should have told him years ago that she fucking _hated_ being called "'Mione."

But she did love him. And she felt like she was supposed to want to say yes when her longtime boyfriend asked her to marry him, so she had.

She’d suggested a lengthy engagement. Ron had just finished training, and Hermione was preparing for two rigorous years as a resident healer. Two years had sounded like a long time. But her residency had flown by, and there were only four weeks left before the wedding.

She and Ron got on well enough, and he was good to her. He was more patient than could be expected, given that after they were engaged, they became more like roommates than lovers. Their sex life had never been spectacular—Ron wasn’t incredibly intuitive, nor a quick learner, and not as adventurous as Hermione would have liked. But it had existed comfortably before...and now it didn’t. The worry and guilt Hermione felt made it almost physically impossible for her to be intimate with him. He was understanding every time she explained it was an issue with her, and not him, which almost made it worse. They just carried on as though things were fine.

She forced herself to brush her teeth and stop cataloguing what had gotten her into this situation. _It doesn’t have to be permanent,_ she told herself. _Lots of people get divorced._

The voice in her head was skeptical. _You’re considering your divorce before you’re even married. That’s not normal._

Hermione glared at herself in the mirror and flicked off the light.

When she tiptoed into the bedroom to collect pajamas, Ron lifted his head groggily.

“Hey, ‘Mione. Coming to bed?” His words were sluggish. “Do you wanna…?”

He was definitely still drunk—he rarely tried to initiate things anymore otherwise. She shook her head once, giving him a small smile that felt like a grimace. “I have a headache.”

With Ron sprawled over most of the bed, she arranged herself on the edge of her side, and willed the clenching of her stomach to ease.


	2. Chapter 2

_Friday, July 2, 2004_

Hermione’s week was long—dragon pox was going around St. Mungo's, and she’d covered more shifts than she could normally handle. The pressure to set a good foundation for healers-in-training and conduct meaningful research in the Spell Damage unit was weighing on her. 

By the time she reached the Leaky, their usual table was already crowded. Draco, Ron and Cormac were having an animated conversation about the Cannons, so she dropped onto a bench next to Harry. He threw an arm around her, and she was grateful that he knew her well enough to not ask questions about her day.

“You look like you need this more than I do, Hermione,” said Theo, setting two tumblers of firewhiskey in front of them and turning back toward the bar. “I’ll go for another.”

Hermione thanked him and leaned into Harry. “Have I told you how happy I am that you and Theo are together?” She took a long sip and wished the burn would melt away the anxious feeling. “You should really thank the brilliant matchmaker who set you two up.”

Harry squeezed her shoulder. “I’m sure Draco doesn’t expect a thank you.”

“Ha. Theo might’ve been Draco’s friend first, but I’m the one who works with him everyday. If I hadn’t pushed him to make a move that New Year’s Eve, you’d still be ‘meeting me for lunch’ in the cafeteria three times a week. Also known as quite obviously staring and pining.” 

Theo returned with a fresh glass, and Hermione shifted over to let him in next to Harry. “Who’s staring and pining?”

“Harry was, before my intervention.”

Theo gave his boyfriend a kiss that lingered. “Ah, yes. You never come for lunch anymore.” He slid close enough to be in Harry’s lap. "Which is a shame, because now I could actually make you _come_ for—”

“Oi!” Ron pointed warningly from across the table. “No.”

Cormac raised his brows in lascivious appreciation, and Hermione idly wished he’d show up less frequently for drinks. “S’all right, Ron. At least you’re getting shagged on the regular, too. I still need a date for your wedding.”

Hermione’s skin itched as the thrum of tension increased to a buzz throughout her body. 

Cormac persisted. “I know for a fact,” he pointed at Hermione, drink dangling precariously in his hand, “that Granger goes after what she wants. Don’t know how you leave her alone in dark rooms with this one.” He elbowed Draco, who glared murderously at him.

Hermione considered various ways to tactfully tell Cormac to go fuck himself, but Ron flatly dismissed him.

“Shut up, McLaggen. I trust her, that’s how.” Then he tossed back the rest of his drink. “Darts, Malfoy?”

Theo and Cormac followed them—Draco _was_ good at darts, and so was Ron—and Harry pulled Hermione comfortably into his side again. She rested her head on his shoulder, and when he leaned into her hair, the pressure was grounding. He spoke quietly as they watched the game across the pub.

"I know something's wrong. I'm not going to ask what it is, because I know you'll tell me when you're ready." 

Hermione swallowed hard as she felt the prickle of tears threatening. Thank Merlin he wasn't forcing eye contact. Harry’s emotional intelligence had improved since Hogwarts, and he could read her better than anyone. 

"It goes without saying, so I won’t waste any breath reminding you there's nothing in this world that could make me love you any less."

Hermione turned into him, burying her face against his neck and letting him hold her in a silent hug until she felt ready to speak. It occurred to her she’d become more comfortable being demonstrative with Harry than with Ron. She took several shuddery breaths.

"I love you too, Harry." A watery laugh escaped her. "That's why I gave you Theo."

"Mmm. Thanks, by the way. He’s the gift that keeps on giving." He winked at her, and the effortless intimacy he seemed to share with Theo highlighted what she was missing.

She smothered a small flame of envy as she waved goodbye down the table and made her excuses.

* * *

_Tuesday, July 6, 2004_

Hermione had already decided the next movie would be You’ve Got Mail, and she refused to deviate from a romantic comedy just because Cormac tried to make things awkward. Draco arrived shortly after Harry and Ron left for bowling. 

“How come yours doesn’t make that noise?” Draco asked immediately.

“My internet is always connected wirelessly, but it used to take up the telephone line. Technology has advanced really quickly—this only came out six years ago.”

“Hmm…” Draco watched thoughtfully. He was less on the edge of his seat than the prior week, but he seemed captivated by the story and impressed by what he called the “devious Slytherin tactics” of Joe Fox. When it was over, he topped off Hermione’s wine and then his own, and announced, “Well, that was less believable than the dinosaur film.”

“What’s so hard to believe?” Hermione shifted sideways on the couch, legs outstretched. “Anonymity allowed them to fall for each other, and then they just genuinely had chemistry as they became friends.”

Draco shook his head dismissively. “He figured out who she was, though. He deceived her, manipulated her, and ruined her business. Her _family_ business. In real life, she’d never have forgiven him.” 

Hermione hummed. “Hufflepuffs can be pretty forgiving.”

“That woman was a classic Gryffindor,” he scoffed, finishing off a packet of maltesers.

“Gryffindors are forgiving, too.” She prodded his thigh with her foot. “Look at us, watching films together. Wouldn’t have predicted we’d become friends, would you?”

“I guess not.” He stroked a finger down her insole until she pulled her foot back, giggling. “You and Weasley though...I think everyone predicted that.”

She clutched her glass and took a large swallow, shrugging lightly. His eyes didn’t miss her white-knuckle grip. “How’s wedding planning?”

She pulled her knees to her chest, wrapping an arm around them. “Can we not talk about it?” His brow furrowed, so she continued. “I’m sorry, I’m just—it’s stressful.”

He nodded, but still looked concerned. “Yeah, of course. Sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“You didn’t. I’m just overwhelmed.” She tried to keep her voice casual. “What about you? And Astoria. Are your plans...coming along?”

He stiffened visibly. “I’m not really involved. My mother could probably tell you, if you asked.” He drained his glass and levitated it to the kitchen counter. “I don’t ask.”

“You should bring Astoria on Friday night.” Hermione had little interest in meeting her, but it seemed like the right thing to say. “I feel like I hardly know her.”

“Yes, well. That makes two of us.”

Before she could respond, Harry and Ron returned. They’d won again, but toned back their celebration. Draco congratulated them and excused himself, claiming an early morning.

Hermione fell asleep to covetous thoughts of movie-perfect mutual breakups. 

* * *

_Friday, July 9, 2004_

Hermione couldn't bring herself to go out for drinks and endure any more wedding-related conversation, with Cormac or anyone else. She sent Ron an owl that she wasn't feeling well, and climbed straight into bed after her shift.

Ron came home to change. "Do you want me to have Mum send over some food?"

Hermione shuddered at the thought of being pressed into decisions about napkins and seating arrangements. "No, thanks. I'll be fine."

She closed her eyes when he kissed her forehead, and didn't open them again until he'd gone.

A couple of hours later, Hermione was trying unsuccessfully to focus on a book when she heard a tapping at the window. She offered Draco's regal owl several treats as she accepted the paper-wrapped bundle. "Thank you, Aquila."

Opening the package, she found a book and a bouquet of daisies, along with a note.

_Granger,_

_I hear you're not feeling well. I have it on good authority that daisies are the friendliest flower. Consider yourself cheered up._

_I’ve been meaning to give this to you —I found it in Blaise's library, and he assures me there's no need to return it. I don't think Montague has anything on Ogden's research, but you’d know better than me. _

_-Draco_

Hermione smoothed her fingers over the parchment and read it several times. Then she examined the delicate book with brittle pages— _Vistagio_ , by Archibald Montague. It was extremely rare, and something she’d mentioned looking for months ago as part of her research on damage associated with wasting spells.

She put the flowers in a vase and climbed back into bed, staring at the fragile volume on her bedside table. She imagined Draco searching the manor's library, then selecting the book off of a shelf in Blaise's with her in mind. Visualized him excusing himself from the Leaky, choosing flowers on the way back to his flat, and putting together the package for her. She weighed the platonic language of the note against the significant thoughtfulness of the gesture.

Her mind turned over visions of a different life. A partner who understood her. She tried to imagine a wedding at the Burrow and nothing came into focus.

She was sleeping restlessly when Ron came home hours later.

* * *

_Monday, July 12, 2004_

Hermione had a dress fitting scheduled for 3:00. After Ron left for work, she got out of bed. 

She walked into the closet, unzipped the garment bag, and stared at the dress. The vinyl smell of the bag and the copious ruffles of Molly-selected lace and ribbon assaulted her senses. She felt dizzy and hot, leaning against the wall, and her vision swam as she looked around the room. Someone else’s laundry she didn’t want to pick up, an ugly framed Cannons poster she hated, and a bed she shared with a man she didn't want to touch. 

Hermione barely made it to the bathroom to heave over the toilet. As she took gasping breaths of air and still felt light-headed, she felt a rush of clarity and decisiveness. _No. No to the dress. No to all of this._

She sent Leviosa off with two notes. One to the hospital, letting them know she’d be out all day. And one to Harry. 

_Can you come over now? Please don't say anything to anyone._

_-H_

Harry arrived ten minutes later, still in his Auror robes. She'd been pacing, and she threw herself into his arms before he was even all the way out of the Floo.

Harry made her tea and forced toast into her. He listened without judgment as she acknowledged—out loud and to someone else for the first time—that she didn't want to marry Ron. She was careful with her words, because Ron was Harry’s best friend, too. But she felt enormously unburdened, even if he seemed unsurprised.

She hesitantly said, "If I've let this go on too long, if it's not fair to Ron to do this now...I can try to make it work."

Harry heard her unasked question. "Hermione, I don't think you should marry him if you feel this way."

She could've kissed him. With Harry’s validation, she could visualize ending things. It was so much clearer than the undefined images of marrying Ron had ever been.

"Does this have anything to do with...Is there anyone else?"

 _In for a knut,_ she thought. So she answered him honestly. 

"Ron and I aren't right together. We should each be with someone more suited to us." She took a deep breath. "I do see myself with someone more _like_ Draco. But nothing’s happened, and he doesn't even know I'm unhappy. I'm not leaving Ron for Draco. I'm ending things for Ron and I." She sipped her tea. "Besides, he's engaged."

Harry gave her a wry smile. "Well, technically, so are you, and look how happy you are."

They sent Leviosa to cancel the dress fitting and to let Molly know she was still under the weather. By the time he left, Hermione had a plan, and a promise from Harry—something she’d already known, but had needed to hear. No matter what, he would have her back. 

* * *

When Ron arrived home from work, Hermione couldn't even say hello. She sat him on the sofa and ripped the proverbial bandage off. 

It was dreadful to hurt Ron, and to see the sorrow in his eyes when he asked, "Is this just the wedding? Are you just not ready to get married? Or...is this it for us?"

The desperate-to-please, afraid-to-fail part of Hermione saw an opportunity to soothe the sting for Ron. She was momentarily tempted to take it. But she needed to do this once, and cleanly. She gently placed the ring she’d been clutching in her palm onto the coffee table. 

"You belong with someone who is in love with you the way you deserve. I’m so sorry that’s not me."

She offered to be the one to leave, but he insisted she keep the flat, and declined her offer to stay until he found his own place. He packed a bag, gave her a long hug, and left for Grimmauld, where Harry expected he’d come. He left the ring on the table.

It took less than thirty minutes to end their six-year relationship.

Harry checked on her later, retrieving a few more things for Ron. He gave her a warm hug and whispered into her hair. “Proud of you, Hermione. I know it wasn’t easy.” 

Hermione owled the hospital to let them know she wouldn’t be in tomorrow, either. She felt bad about missing work two days in a row, but justified that she’d arranged a week’s holiday for a honeymoon she would no longer be taking. 

She drank a bottle of wine herself over the course of the evening, and even managed a small sandwich. The near-constant tension she'd felt for almost two years started unwinding from her body.

Upstairs, she used her wand to strip off the old bedding. It had been a housewarming present from Molly. She started the laundry, and spelled a fresh set onto the bed, crawling in on her side.

Then she laughed. She rolled over into the middle of the bed and splayed her arms and legs out, because she fucking could. It was the first time in her life she'd ever lived alone. Her nerves were still raw, but she slept better than she had in months.


	3. Chapter 3

_Tuesday, July 13, 2004_

Telling Molly was even more awful than Hermione had predicted.

Ron made it clear she didn’t need to be there, but she felt she owed him. Part of her felt she deserved to hear what Molly had to say. Like penance. 

He even took up for her, but only one barb—about what her parents would think—cut deeply enough to shock her. At that, Arthur ended it. His "That's _enough_ , Molly,” was more forceful than she could ever recall hearing him.

After Molly stormed outside, Arthur sat beside Hermione. "Sometimes things don't work. It’s not anyone's fault. And Hermione?" 

She met his eye—the warm and kind man who’d made sure she had a place to exist in this world after she'd taken her parents’ memories. She felt an acute ache that they would never hug and reassure her about this, or anything else.

"You'll always be a daughter to me." Then he patted her on the back and gestured outside. "She'll come around, too."

Hermione didn't think she would. But she appreciated Arthur's sentiment, and thanked him softly as he followed his wife out the door. 

* * *

Ron and Harry went with Hermione back to her flat to finish packing. Harry put on tea, and Hermione said, “I've made a list of our things and how I think we could split them.” 

She hated it as soon as it came out of her mouth, painfully self-aware of how she must sound. She was too clinical, she knew, and sometimes she came off as unfeeling instead of pragmatic. “I’m sorry—we can discuss it, of course. I was just trying to make it easier.”

Ron gave her a dazed look. “It’s okay, ‘Mione. I’m sure it’s fine.” 

Hermione walked around pulling down frames, duplicating pictures of just the two of them. She packed each set neatly, tucked the ring in an envelope, and added it to Ron’s box. She labeled, shrunk, and stored her own in her closet. 

Hermione told them that she’d take care of sending out all the notices the next day, and asked Ron to please not let Molly do it. He gave her an apologetic look.

“It’s okay, Ron. I hurt her son, even if I never meant to." She shrunk his box of pictures and handed it to him. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, of course. I will be." He gave her an awkward hug and vaguely suggested getting together for lunch sometime. "I'll miss being here with you, 'Mione." And then she was alone.

Hermione was lost in thought as she used various spells to straighten and reorganize the home that now belonged just to her. Would she miss living with Ron? A bit, she decided. As something she’d comfortably relied upon for many years. With nostalgia. Their friendship would take time to normalize, but they had a shared history that a peaceful breakup couldn't erase. 

As a partner, though? Hermione wouldn't miss that. She slipped into a warm bath and felt free.

* * *

At 7:00, Draco arrived as usual. Before she could even greet him, he’d noticed the changes to her flat.

“Are you redecorating?”

Hermione stayed seated. “Ron and I aren’t getting married anymore, and he moved out.” The words felt unfamiliar as they rolled off her tongue, like they belonged to someone else, but she felt a small amount of satisfaction at Draco’s expression.

He stood frozen in place, clutching a paper sack—movie candy, probably. “Oh. _Oh._ Fuck. Are you okay?” 

“I am, really.” She took in the wary look he gave her. “I’m sorry. Is this odd? Should I have cancelled? I know you and Ron work together and are friends, too. But it’s amicable, I promise.” She laughed nervously and realized she was rambling. “No one will make you pick a side.”

Draco dropped the sack on the coffee table and sat next to her. “You didn’t need to cancel. Just…fuck.” He ran a palm down his face and then back through his hair. “I just wasn’t expecting that, Granger. Do you, uh—do you want to talk about it?”

She’d been thinking about this all afternoon. “If you’re okay with it. Harry's been amazing. But Ron needs him more than I do right now, and I hate to put him in the middle. It would be nice to talk with someone close who isn’t an honorary Weasley.” 

So Draco poured them drinks and they settled in on the sofa. Hermione explained how she felt she and Ron had come together due to the stressful events during the war, and what felt right at that time ended up feeling less so. How they’d realized they didn’t have much in common when they weren’t helping Harry destroy Voldemort. “Not that couples have to do everything together,” she explained, but when they were alone, they had few shared interests or stimulating discussions.

“How long have you been feeling this way, Granger?”

She bit her lip. “It felt wrong as soon as he proposed.”

Draco stared at her incredulously.

“Please don’t tell Ron. I didn’t even tell Harry. It wouldn’t change anything, and Ron would just feel worse. I don’t like to fail, and saying no would have felt like failure. I tried to convince myself there was something wrong with me. How could I not want to be with this perfectly great guy? I should have been very happy.”

Draco shrugged. “Well, we don’t marry every perfectly great person we meet.”

This made so much sense to Hermione, she wasn’t sure why she’d never framed it that way before. “Yes. You’re right. I don’t know why I put so much pressure on myself. I’m sure partly because the Weasleys have been like my family, since…” 

She didn’t need to explain. Draco had known about her parents since eighth year. 

“I think I was afraid I’d be losing them as much as Ron. Letting them down. I hate disappointing people. And the longer it went on, the more impossible it felt to end.” She pulled a knee to her chest. “Molly’s reaction proved that fear was not unfounded. I expected most of it, except when she said my parents would be ashamed of me.” She watched Draco’s expression darken.

“That’s a bullshit low blow and you know it.” 

She chewed her thumbnail. “I think until she sees Ron happy with someone else, she’ll hate me. And I get it. I hope someday she understands I did it for him, too. I was already thinking about how long I’d have to wait before it might be acceptable to end my marriage.”

He stared at her. “Granger.”

“I know. Don’t say anything to anyone.”

Draco pulled her into a hug. “I’m not going to tell anyone anything.” He stroked a warm palm up and down her back. “Merlin, Granger. This has been eating you alive for...what, two years now?”

She pulled back and nodded. “Do you want to hear the worst thing? What makes me a truly terrible person?”

One corner of his mouth pulled up. “Of course I want to hear that.”

She sank back into the sofa and ran her fingers absently over the indentation where her ring used to be. “All I feel is relief. Obviously I feel awful to have hurt Ron. But my own self, how I feel about the end of six years together? Nothing but pure, _giddy,_ relief. I feel like I’ve already grieved the end of the relationship, because I wanted out of it for so long.”

Draco gave her a contemplative look. “That’s not terrible. That makes sense. You just didn’t let anyone else in on the fact that you were grieving. Speaking of...how’s Weasley?”

Hermione sighed. “He’s with Harry, which is good. I'm sure he wishes things were different. But I think once it sinks in, he’s going to be relieved he’s not stuck with me.”

Draco scoffed at that. “You’re The Brightest Witch in the History of Witches. The Golden Girl Who Saved Their Arses.” He gave her a smile. “Not to mention, always out of Weasley's league, and I say that as someone who actually likes him now. I doubt anyone would be glad to lose you, Granger.”

“Yes, well.” She shifted uncomfortably. “There were...ways in which I’d been lacking. As a partner.”

Draco raised an eyebrow at her expectantly. “Did you cheat? Do you have a gambling problem? I know you can cook, which is surely the most important quality to Weasley.”

“No! I just...well, like you said, this has been weighing heavily on me for years. All of that anxiety made it impossible for me to want to do...normal, couple-y things.”

Draco’s expression was unreadable. “You weren’t having sex.”

Hermione shook her head slowly.

“ _Ever?_ ”

“Not _never_. Before he proposed, yes. It was fine. It was good. Fine.” Hermione felt herself flush and Draco’s unwavering gaze wasn’t helpful. “Everything was okay. But afterward...almost never.”

“Almost never,” he repeated. “In two years.”

"Um...I could count the times on one hand. And I could only make myself because I felt so guilty. It’s been...probably a year? He never pressured me, Draco. And he was never unfaithful. I think he was fully prepared to marry me in two weeks despite that. But...I mean, it was a clear sign there was something wrong. Obviously. So I hope once he gets used to the idea, he feels better about...you know...”

“Getting laid again?”

Hermione laughed, nudging his shoulder. “Stop. But yes—he deserves better. He deserves someone to be _in love_ with him, and we haven’t been that in a long time. If we ever properly were.”

Draco shook his head disbelievingly. “Christ, Granger. No wonder Weasley needed to win at bowling so fucking badly.”

Hermione bit the inside of her cheek to stifle a smile. “To be fair, you were the one responsible for his dissatisfaction there.” She glanced at the clock and stretched. 

“Thank you for listening to me, Draco. It helped to be able to talk about some things Harry doesn’t need to know. I’m sorry we missed the movie, but I should let you get home to Astoria.”

“Oh. Astoria.” Draco started to chuckle, and then he started to laugh. A rich, full-throated laugh.

Hermione goggled at him. “Merlin, Draco. What’s the matter with you?”

Draco tried to speak in fits and starts, sputtering and laughing—giggling, really, as he struggled to get his composure. “Well—how did you put it? Oh, yes. Astoria and I aren’t getting married anymore, and she moved out. Or rather, I hadn’t let her move in to begin with, but I boxed the things she kept trying to leave around my flat. And I told my father to fuck off.” He started laughing again, so hard that he wheezed trying to catch his breath, and his eyes started to water.

Hermione felt like she couldn’t breathe either, but she wasn’t laughing. “You broke up with Astoria? _When?_ "

"Last week," he said between fitful giggles. "Tuesday night."

“Why didn't you say anything? Merlin, Draco, I’ve been rattling on about myself and I didn’t even know…”

He shook his head, coughing to clear his throat. “I wasn't going to take any focus off your day. We were going to keep it quiet until after.”

“Oh. That was thoughtful," Hermione said automatically. "Did something happen? I mean—sorry. It's not my business.” 

Draco snorted. “I think we've shared plenty of things that aren’t each other’s business tonight, Granger."

Hermione blushed, but kept her mouth shut, hoping he'd continue.

Draco tilted his glass to swirl the contents, staring resolutely at the sofa cushions. "My heart was elsewhere."

She could hear the sound of her blood rushing in her ears.

"It has been for a long time, actually. I was just ready to stop going through the motions. I couldn’t do it anymore."

When it seemed like he wouldn't say anything else, she asked the first thing she could think of. "Why last week?"

"I’ll tell you, Granger, but you don’t get to poke fun at me."

"Why would I?"

"Because it’s two things from that movie now that have crossed over into my life." Draco sounded slightly defensive. "It was that Muggle in the escalator who knew exactly what he wanted."

"Oh." Hermione was dazed, but made the connection. "The elevator."

"Yes, whatever. The lift. That…” He placed a palm to his chest briefly, then gestured resignedly. “I knew what I wanted, too. The one who had my heart might have wanted someone else, but I didn’t have to accept a loveless arranged marriage as some sort of consolation prize. Or to appease my father. He can keep the Malfoy fortune. It’s not as if the Black inheritance wasn’t enough."

Hermione’s mind struggled to keep up. She was processing the idea of a single Draco and he was talking about someone else already. “Someone else has your heart?” 

He gave her a pointed look. “Granger. You're not serious right now? I'm told I’ve been ridiculously obvious. Theo said I needed to get it together, because if Potter started asking questions, he wasn't going to cover for me. He said, 'Draco, Harry sucks cock like it's a treacle tart lolly and he'll never get enough, and if you fuck this up for me…'"

"Okay, okay. Good for Theo." Hermione laughed weakly. "They're really good together. Harry would murder for treacle tart.”

“So I gather,” Draco said dryly. “Theo has no filter. It's fair to say their affection is mutual and reciprocated.”

Hermione stared at him, still stunned. “I’m wrung out, Draco. I can’t keep up like normal. When you say someone has your heart...”

“You, you silly witch. I can’t believe I can actually tell you that.” He sighed dramatically. “I’d resigned myself to a life of pining after one of my best friends, who'd be married to a colleague who was also a friend. I would never have said anything.”

He took a drink and she observed the line of his throat as he swallowed. “I probably shouldn’t be saying anything now. Fuck. Just because you’ve ended your relationship doesn’t mean... You obviously will want time to, you know. Be your own person. Figure out what you _do_ want. Do the Granger, think-everything-through-from-every-angle thing. And that’s not to say you even…”

Was he trying to imply Hermione couldn’t do anything impulsive? Because Hermione could be impulsive. She was tired of doing what others expected. She was finally doing exactly what she _wanted_. It made her feel bold and uninhibited.

So she took the drink from his fingers, setting it on the table carefully. Then before she lost her nerve, she climbed onto his lap, straddling him in a move the sofa had never seen.

"That's not to say what, Draco?" Her gaze held his shocked gray eyes, closer than ever before. They were flecked with icy blue. Her fingers slid into impossibly blond, perfectly soft hair, gripping it lightly to angle his head back against the cushion. "That I might think about you the same way?"

Draco’s hands—initially loose and uncertain at his sides—slid tentatively up her thighs and hips, settling at her waist. The slight parting of his lips as his breath picked up seemed like an invitation.

She leaned in and pressed her mouth to his, sucking lightly at the bow of his upper lip. His hands gripped her tighter, and the low, needy sound from the back of his throat made her smile against him. Hermione may have started it, but he responded instantly—insistent and urgent, the burn of firewhiskey on his tongue as he deepened the kiss. Her heart skipped a beat and then picked up pace, and she felt butterflies in her stomach as she focused on how solid and _good_ Draco felt beneath her. 

She rocked her hips against him, recognizing he was just as affected as she was, relishing the way he growled and grasped at her more tightly. Desire coursed through her, and she felt her knickers dampen. _Merlin._ When was the last time that happened from kissing? _Maybe never,_ she thought mindlessly. She immersed herself in it, drinking in the sensual pressure of Draco's mouth against her own, rolling her hips into him again.

Draco pulled back suddenly, panting. "Holy fuck, Granger."

Her hands dropped from his hair (now delightfully-mussed), and pressed against his chest for support. The sudden, intense arousal was staggering. "I’ve spent so long trying to convince myself there was something wrong with me that I couldn’t feel that spark."

Draco gazed up at her, heavy-lidded, a ghost of a smirk in place. “Are you feeling anything, Granger?”

She nodded, curling her fingers into his jumper. "Merlin, yes."

She met his lips for another searing kiss, but pulled back breathlessly. She needed to make something clear. 

“I didn’t end my relationship for you.”

He met her eyes steadily. “I didn’t end mine for you, either.”

“But I think you were...a catalyst. An impetus to not settle. Because someone like you—something like _this_ ," she clarified, clutching his jumper forcefully, "was possible."

Draco swallowed audibly, nodding. Then he sighed heavily and shifted her off his lap, keeping her tucked firmly into his side. “I can't believe I'm saying this right now, but I think we need to ease into this. Give things a little time. I know you feel like you’re ready to move on. But this is the first time you’re getting to be your own person in your entire adult life. And you know people are going to talk. Even if you’re fine with that, it’s not going to be kind to Weasley.”

Hermione pressed her fingers to her kissed lips, contemplative as she leaned into his warmth. She was frustrated, but he made sense. “You’re right. I've been unfocused on work, and I have things to get straightened out. And no one would believe that nothing happened before now. Merlin, I can't believe I just climbed all over you like that.”

Draco cocked a brow at her. "I’m not complaining, Granger. We can keep spending time together. I just don’t want to be a hasty decision you’ll end up regretting, even if it’s just because it happened too fast.”

Hermione chewed her lip, nodding. “Right. Let’s say...we keep things friendly and let everything settle for the next month. If we both still want to move forward after that, we’ll pick back up.” The words tasted bitter. Her usual sensibility was hard to call upon after a spectacular experiment in recklessness.

Draco stretched, slipping his shoes on. “I need to leave before I lose my resolve. But I’m going to woo you, Granger. Like a gentleman. The kind of courting my parents always expected of me.”

Hermione snickered as she followed him toward the fireplace. “I’m sure they’ll be thrilled.” Her eyes caught the flowers on the table. "Oh! I completely forgot to thank you for the daisies and the book, Draco. They were incredibly thoughtful. Just what I needed."

He leaned in and pressed a warm kiss to her cheek. The chaste touch sent a contradictory flutter through her. "Friendly, right?" Then he winked. "See you soon, Granger."


	4. Chapter 4

_Wednesday, July 14, 2004_

Hermione was distracted at work, paranoid that everyone knew everything already. She collected takeaway Thai on her way home and met Harry in her flat. He’d borrowed a few post owls from the ministry and had already set about duplicating notices and the brief message they’d composed to guests.

_“Ronald Weasley and Hermione Granger would like to announce that their wedding will not take place as scheduled.”_

Hermione agonized over whether or not to include a request for privacy. It sounded too brief, but Harry argued that simplicity was best. “Besides, Hermione. You know no one is going to grant you privacy, whether you ask nicely or not.” 

Hermione realized this was unfortunately true. Anything they did, from choosing a career to a flavor at Fortescue’s, was apparently newsworthy. She dreaded being the topic of conversation for the indefinite future.

Harry sent the last owl off, and Hermione handed him a slip of parchment as he prepared to leave. She and Ron had handled the wedding deposits themselves, and she’d written a Gringotts transfer for Ron to cover the amounts he had taken care of. She felt thankful that they’d never mingled money—one less thing to worry about now.

Harry examined it and said, “You know he doesn’t expect this.”

Hermione was resolute. “It’s the right thing to do. Tell him if he doesn’t want it, he can buy his mother something horrid.” Then she clapped a hand over her mouth. “That was rude. I’m sorry. I’m tired and out of sorts, but I appreciate everything you’re doing, Harry, and I’m indescribably grateful that this isn’t going to break our friendships. Please just tell Ron he can owl me if he wants to talk about it.”

There was a tapping at the window, and Harry moved to let the owl in. “Already? Shit. You’re probably going to be up all night, Hermione. Maybe we should have set these to go in the morning. You don’t need midnight Howlers about breaking poor Ron Weasley’s heart.”

But this owl was Aquila, carrying a bundle. Hermione wished Harry had left already.

“Well,” he said. “Open it up.”

She fed Aquila a treat, and he ruffled his feathers regally before returning to the sky. Hermione unwrapped the package to see a bouquet of forsythia and an expensive-looking leatherbound journal with blank pages. There was a small parchment attached. _To thine own self be true._

She showed him the note, because he was looking at her expectantly. 

“Malfoy?”

She nodded.

“That was fast. Did we even send him a message?”

Hermione busied herself putting the arrangement in a vase. “No. He and I talked last night.”

Harry gave her a look.

“Please don’t, Harry. I see Draco every Tuesday night. I’m not making any more messes for you to clean up.” She kissed him on the cheek and pushed him toward the Floo. 

Then she carried the note and journal to the sofa, scrambling for her laptop to look up flower symbolism. Forsythia apparently meant “anticipation.” Hermione found herself smiling at that when the journal next to her began to radiate heat.

**_Good evening, Granger. I’ve seen your owl, and she’s lovely, but I thought it might be easier on her if we communicate with a pair of these. I’ve charmed them to warm when there’s a message._ **

Hermione felt quite charmed herself, as she summoned a quill. Words were always her weakness.

_Brilliant. Thank you for the flowers. They’re just what I needed after sharing my personal business with the world._

_And a Muggle literary quote...be still, my heart._

**_I’ll take credit, though I’m not convinced Shakespeare wasn’t a wizard. So tomorrow’s the day?_ **

_As we speak, actually. But yes, it will surely be widely known by tomorrow._

**_Will you be at the Leaky on Friday?_ **

_I think so. Maybe the more normally I act, the sooner things will smooth over._

**_Let me know. I can call in a favor to take the pressure off, at least among friends._ **

_??_

**_Just let me know if you decide not to go._ **

She placed the new vase of flowers and the journal on her bedside table, and tried to fall asleep to thoughts of gray eyes instead of red envelopes.

* * *

_Thursday, July 15, 2004_

Hermione threw herself back into work, largely to ignore the screaming headlines of the Prophet and requests for interviews.

**POTTER’S IMPOSSIBLE CHOICE: WEASLEY-GRANGER’S SHOCKING SPLIT TEARS GOLDEN TRIO APART!**

The paper was shamelessly speculatory, as usual. She had some promising trials to conduct with some of the theory from _Vistagio._ The more she focused on that, the less time she had to wonder how many Howlers the hospital had to _Incendio_ at her directive.

She sorted her own post with a discriminating eye, Vanishing the bulk of it. She'd learned long ago that most of the wizarding world seemed to forget they were actual people. It was healthier not to hear what strangers had to say about her. 

When she woke up on Thursday, she was surprised that the volume of mail had increased, thinking it might’ve tapered off at least a little. When she saw the paper, however, the reason was clear.

**MALFOY BETROTHAL BROKEN! GOLDEN GIRL AND DEATH EATER EMBROILED IN TORRID HOMEWRECKING AFFAIR!**

Hermione rushed upstairs to find her journal, hot on her nightstand. 

**_I’m so sorry, Granger. My father’s still angry about the contract. He’s not one to miss an opportunity, and he knew exactly what this would look like._ **

_Well, it was going to come out anyway. Better than dragging it out, I suppose. I’ll see you at the Leaky tomorrow night._

**_Really?_ **

_I’m not going into hiding because of the Prophet. Everyone knows it’s rubbish. It’s worse if we give them a reaction._

* * *

_Friday, July 16, 2004_

Hermione still dreaded walking into the pub on Friday evening, dodging photographers and feeling eyes on her everywhere. Hannah wouldn’t allow them inside, but it was still unnerving. She was relieved to spot Ron and Draco playing darts. She dropped into a seat next to Luna - she was eccentric, but Hermione knew she wouldn’t treat her differently based on rumors. 

Before long, Pansy and Neville walked in together, which was unusual. It could have been coincidental, until Pansy pulled him into a passionate kiss with lots of tongue, pressed him into a chair, and said, “I’ll go get us some drinks. Save me a seat, darling.” Neville turned red to the tips of his ears, but shrugged a shoulder as the table erupted in catcalls. When Pansy returned with drinks, she bypassed open chairs and settled directly in Neville’s lap.

Hermione was grateful for the unexpected distraction. Draco took advantage by brushing his fingertips lightly along her shoulder as he joined the table, settling into a seat on the other side, and the echo of his touch gave her goosebumps. She felt dizzyingly aware of his presence. _Fuck. Keep it together, Hermione._

Theo sat down on her other side. “How about that, huh?” he asked as he nodded toward the end of the table. Hermione turned in time to see Pansy lick Neville’s neck, take a shot, and then bite into a lime wedge he’d been obediently holding between his lips. Hermione didn’t even know the Leaky served tequila.

“That’s certainly a surprise.” 

Draco gave her a look that told her Pansy was the favor he’d called in. She didn’t think Neville would play along with something like this, so they must have really been seeing each other quietly. She was grateful for their willingness—extreme willingness, from the sight of them—to take things public now.

Harry arrived, planting a kiss on her head and one to Theo’s lips, and settled on his other side. “Sorry I’m late. Strangest thing—somehow McLaggen fucked up a whole stack of paperwork and I had to get him started on it.” 

She leaned forward to see around Theo and caught Harry’s wink. “I fucking love you, Harry Potter.”

Hermione relaxed, drifting in and out of conversations with her friends, grateful for the relative normalcy. After a few hours, she was ready to go, and she exchanged small smiles with Ron as she passed by him to settle her tab. She realized she’d been buying Pansy and Neville’s drinks all evening, and she wasn’t a bit mad about it. She kissed them each on the cheek as she left, leaning in to whisper, “Thanks, Pans. You two are adorable.” 

Hermione sent a message through her journal before bed.

_Pansy and Neville were brilliant —thank you. I hope you didn’t call in too big a favor, because they didn’t seem very put out. _

_Are you free tomorrow evening? If so, could you meet me just outside the Hogwarts gate at 9:00?_

**_Pansy’s been looking for an excuse. She’s worse than Theo._ **

**_I’ll see you then, Granger._ **

* * *

_Saturday, July 17, 2004_

As soon as Draco arrived, she took his arm and Apparated them to a more remote location on the path to Hogsmeade. 

“Hi,” she said. “I have a surprise for you. Close your eyes.”

Draco closed them obediently, and she pulled one of her biggest secrets from her pocket. _“Engorgio,”_ she whispered, releasing the shrinking charm.

“Okay, you can open them.” 

Draco stared in confusion. “I have a broom already, Granger.” Then he gave her a devious smile. “Wait - is Hermione Granger going to let me give her flying lessons?”

“Hermione Granger already took flying lessons. I’ll thank you to keep that quiet, because only one other person knows.” She mounted the broom and slid forward, gesturing behind her. “Come on.”

Draco didn’t move. “Are you fucking with me right now, Granger? Your hatred of flying is infamous. It’s the only thing you’re not good at.”

“I always _could_ fly. I didn’t like it, and no, I wasn’t very good at it. But I promise I’m competent now. Get on and I’ll tell you about it.”

“You’re full of surprises, Granger.” Draco slid behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist. His touch sparked warmth in her, and she breathed in his delicious scent. “Merlin. I haven’t ridden behind someone on a broom since I was a child. Well, other than Potter, in the...”

Hermione shuddered as she cast a quick disillusionment charm and kicked off smoothly. “Right. Flying can be lifesaving, to say the least. I realized how important it was. But I dreaded asking for help because everyone knew I’d built it up so much in my head. So I wore a glamour and took private lessons during eighth year. There was none of the baggage or pressure of being Hermione Granger.”

It was June, so it wasn’t chilly even in the night air, but Draco held her firmly and rested his chin on her shoulder. “Who else knows?”

“Minerva. She helped me find the lessons, and I could trust her not to pry.”

“Potter and Weasley don’t know you can fly like this?” She shook her head as she skimmed across treetops. 

“It was a nice way for me to escape when I wanted to be alone. And conversely, when they wanted to go flying, no one felt a need to include me, so that gave them space, too.” She touched them down neatly in a secluded spot in the hills on the far side of Hogsmeade. “I liked to come here to watch the sunset.”

Hermione conjured a blanket and they sat shoulder to shoulder, watching the sun go down. Draco radiated heat at every point of contact. She felt like a teenager when his fingers brushed hers, and she was seriously regretting their mutual decision to keep things simple for now. It was private, she knew no one was watching, and she desperately wanted to kiss him again. 

“Thanks for showing me this, Granger. You’re not half bad on a broom.” He nudged her shoulder and gave her a crooked smile. The waning sunset lit him up, golden and achingly attractive, and it made her breath catch. 

She cleared her throat and stood, not trusting herself, and certain he could read her face. “I still don’t love flying in the dark, so we can just Disapparate from here, if you want.” 

Draco stood, shrunk her broom, and tucked it in her pocket. “I’ll see you home first.” Then he wrapped his arms around her waist and Apparated them directly into her flat. 

When they arrived in her living room, he didn’t let her go. He pulled her closer, and rested his forehead against hers. “I’m gonna take things slow with you, Granger. Excellent effort, but no seducing me.” Then he winked at her, pressed a soft kiss to her forehead, and stepped through the Floo.

Hermione took a tepid bath. Unable to stop herself— _and why should I,_ she thought—she used the new vibrator she’d purchased twice before relaxing enough to fall asleep. 

* * *

_Tuesday, July 20, 2004_

The following Tuesday, Hermione watched Dirty Dancing with Draco. It was an exercise in slow torture. She sat closer than she ever had before, but Draco did nothing more than put his arm around her. He even paid attention and appeared thoroughly scandalized by the movie. “She was far too young for him, Granger. What’s wrong with this bloke that he’s preying on young girls?”

Hermione shrugged at him, leaning in closer and placing a hand on his thigh. “She seemed willing.” She delighted in the bobbing of Draco’s throat as he swallowed. 

“She’s supposed to be 17, so she’s old enough according to wizards. I thought you might’ve been more concerned about Penny.” Hermione scolded herself for not just asking his opinion outright. 

He saw right through her anyway, as he gave her a side-eye. “I’m pro choice, if that’s what you’re getting at. Basically, Granger, if my parents would have been against something, I consider myself open-minded about it. It’s not my place to judge anyone in a difficult situation with no good choices.”

“Okay, that’s it.” She got to her feet and hauled him off the sofa. “You need to leave. I can’t be responsible for my actions when you say things like that.”

He kissed her on the cheek and smirked at her before he left. “Nobody puts Granger in a corner,” he said, raising his eyebrows at her suggestively. “Does that do it for you?”

* * *

_Friday, July 23, 2004_

They had both agreed to show up at the Leaky on Friday—the night before Hermione would have gotten married. So far, ignoring the press and continuing business as usual seemed to be the best course of action. They were carefully casual and friendly, and left separately before too long. 

Ron wasn’t there, so that took a little pressure off as well. Harry had played his closely-held “I’m Harry Potter” card to arrange for them to practice with the Cannons all weekend. She was thankful Ron would have that distraction, and that Harry would be there with him. 

She was also grateful to Draco, who’d made arrangements for her earlier in the week so she didn’t have to think about it.

**_Can I take you somewhere on Saturday?_ **

_I really don’t want to be photographed. Is it private?_

**_Private AND out of the country._ **

_Yes, please._

* * *

_Saturday, July 24, 2004_

On the day she would’ve become Hermione Weasley, Draco spent the day with her at Blaise’s vineyard instead. Theo arranged it, he explained, and they could both be trusted to keep it quiet. 

There were no guided tours or tastings. Blaise wasn’t even there. Just wine and books and delicious food, and Draco’s reassuring and distracting company. There was some touching—he allowed her feet in his lap as they read quietly together in Blaise’s library, and he interrupted a stroll through vast rows of thriving grapevines to pull her into a lingering, wordless embrace. Then he made her pasta for dinner, which she watched with her own eyes, half-expecting house elves behind the scenes. Everything was calm, and quiet, and perfect. 

When he pulled her up from the table after dessert, keeping her hand and kissing her knuckles, her heart felt full. She’d been consumed with anxiety about the day for months, and he’d known the best ways to take her mind off of it without having to ask. 

Hermione started to wonder if they’d be staying. Surely Draco wouldn’t share a bed with her right now, but maybe in separate rooms. Maybe she would even get lost and find herself in _his_ room. That would be perfectly plausible. “Was I supposed to bring a bag?” 

Draco laughed at her affectionately. “Oh, Granger. You’re lucky we don’t have a chaperone. Let’s get you home.” 

Hermione fell asleep in the middle of her own bed, warm from wine and sun and pleasurable company. 

* * *

Over the next few weeks, they didn’t miss a single movie night. They watched Back to the Future, which Draco called “Time-Turners gone mad.” Then they saw Pulp Fiction: "But what was in the briefcase?" He especially enjoyed The Big Lebowski: “Weasley makes Walter look timid when it comes to bowling.”

They also continued making appearances at the Leaky each week. Hermione found herself growing irritated at having to be cautious around Draco. She did enjoy the clandestine shiver she felt when he sat briefly next to her sometimes, especially when he discreetly placed a warm hand on her thigh. That caused her to lose track of her thoughts mid-conversation.

But she noticed Ron was chatting women up on occasion. It felt irrationally unfair that he could move on freely because he’d been broken up with, while she should stay single lest she appear insensitive or callous. Other than normal gossip, no one seemed to be giving Draco a bad time about Astoria, either. Hermione resented the sexist double standard.

She was also paying _very_ close attention to the calendar. It had been almost a month since she and Draco discovered they had something to explore. More nights than not, they’d stayed up late talking via the journals. Absent the boundary of other relationships to be mindful of, their conversations intensified the strong friendship they’d had since eighth year. Whenever they were together, his not-quite-casual touches and the thrill of anticipation left her in an entirely different state of tension. 

By the time Draco asked if she wanted to go out for drinks _without friends_ , she was more than eager. She suggested a Muggle bar—excited as she was to go out together with him, there was no sense flaunting anything in wizarding London. The papers were just starting to remember there might be other things worth reporting.

* * *

_Friday, August 13, 2004_

When Hermione saw Draco leaning against the wall of the bar she'd suggested, he was dressed casually enough in tailored black trousers and a soft grey shirt, top buttons undone and sleeves rolled up. She had a peculiar weakness for rolled sleeves in general, but she was embarrassed when her mouth watered at the sight of his leanly muscled forearms. It took her longer than it should have to notice the thumping music. 

"Sorry," she said. "I’ve never been here before. I didn’t realize this was more of a club. Should we go somewhere else?"

Draco took in the sight of her with an appreciative gaze. She’d tried not to overdo it, sticking with a short black skirt and her favorite top. But there was a look on his face she hadn't seen since the night she climbed into his lap, and it made her knees weak with wanting him. 

"You look gorgeous, Granger. Let's go inside."

He took her by the hand, intertwining their fingers, and kept her close as they made their way to the bar. It was too loud to hear what he ordered, but he pulled a generous amount of banknotes from his wallet. She raised a brow and leaned in close so he could hear her. "You came prepared."

The look he gave her sent liquid heat low in her belly. "I'm prepared for everything, Granger."

 _Fuck_ , thought Hermione. Apparently Draco had been counting the days, too. 

The bartender placed two golden shots, a salt shaker, and a small dish of lime wedges in front of Draco. The corner of his mouth turned up as he leaned against the bar. 

"Show me how," he said. Then he placed a lime between his teeth and slid a shot in her direction.

Hermione felt dizzy already. The flashing lights of the club danced off Draco's blond hair and she could feel the pulsing vibration of the bass through her body. 

She picked up the salt shaker and gave him an innocent look, running a thumb over his wrist. "Here?" 

He shook his head slowly.

She leaned in closer, sliding her fingers up his arm to his collar. "Here?"

Hermione felt him nod as she nuzzled his neck, inhaling his familiar spicy citrus scent. She licked a tentative stripe up the side of his throat, and then pulled back just enough to sprinkle salt. His pulse thrummed as she mouthed at him, sweeping her tongue over salt and thin skin before reaching to toss back the shot. When she sucked the lime between her lips, biting so the juice could cut the burn of alcohol, Draco didn’t let go. The heady sensation of his lips brushing hers was her focal point amid the sensory overload of the club.

Draco gripped her hip with warm fingers, thumb slipping beneath her shirt to press into bare skin. He held her close, tracing her collarbone with his tongue, sucking and pulling delicate skin between his teeth before taking his own shot. She was entirely clothed and surrounded by people, but she still thought it might have been the most turned on she’d ever been. They lingered over the lime.

“Another?” she asked expectantly. 

She felt his laugh rumble through his chest. “Let’s go dance, Granger.”

Draco guided her through the crowd of jostling bodies, all grinding to the dirty thump of the music. Hermione didn’t have a lot of experience dancing, but Draco moved with the ease and malleability of someone who’d been trained from a young age to observe and emulate. She followed his lead and gave herself over to the press of his firm body against her own. Need blazed through her as his hands were everywhere—grazing the side of her breasts, skimming down her sides and curving to cup her arse firmly, radiating heat. She lost track of how long they moved together before she tucked her face in his neck and whispered, “Draco, you’ve been driving me crazy all month. I _need_ you.”

He groaned and pulled her with him, but the crowd made it hard to reach the exit. Frustrated, he guided her into a dark corner out of the fray and pressed her back against the wall, gripping her hips firmly and leaving no space between them. He murmured a disillusionment charm. Then his lips were close to her ear, breath ghosting over her flesh and giving her goosebumps despite his delicious heat. Her fingers curled into the front of his shirt.

“A month, hmm? Do you have any idea how long I’ve wanted _you_ , Granger? It’s been years.” His tongue followed the curve of her ear and nipped at the lobe. “You know all my worst mistakes, and yet here you are. I don’t care if it’s a mess in the papers. My name would be nothing without you, anyway.” He grasped her harder and buried his face in her neck. “I would fucking walk through _fire_ for you, Hermione.”

She could hardly catch her breath as his words tingled across her skin. “Oh my God. I...I was starting to think you weren’t nearly as affected as I’ve been.”

A low, amused hum escaped his throat as he placed sucking kisses to her neck. “I’m both a natural and trained Occlumens, Granger, and you’ve still been testing my limits. But I’m done taking it slow.” His words were in contrast to his hands, which had left her hips, mapping an achingly unhurried path under her shirt, up the curve of her waist, traversing ribs and scaling the swell of her breasts. 

Hermione felt lightheaded. The drink and the lights and the rhythmic thud of bass stimulating her senses were bad enough. But his touch alone made her certain she wouldn’t keep her feet if he weren’t pinning her to the wall. Disillusionment charm or not, his hands were driving her mad, and she desperately wanted to be alone with him. “Draco, take me home.”

* * *

He Apparated them straight to her bedroom. They struggled to strip off clothing without separating, until Hermione Vanished it efficiently. He pushed her back onto the bed, covering her body with his, and the hot slide of skin against skin made her moan. She threaded her fingers through his hair and pulled his mouth to hers in a deliciously sultry kiss. 

“Please,” she begged. “I’m so ready for you, Draco. I’ve been so ready.” 

He ignored her, working his way slowly down her body, lips and tongue blazing a scorching trail along her throat and over the peaks of her breasts. Frustrated arousal coursed through her. 

“I thought you were done taking it slow,” she whined breathlessly. “I want to taste you.” That was true, but Hermione also thought it would be an excellent strategy to pick up the pace.

He clucked at her. “This is not slow, Hermione. I’m savoring you.” His tongue dragged torturously before he bit at her ribs. “You're just going to have to wait your turn.”

Hermione recognized a small thrill at being told what to do. That was something to explore further. Later. She impulsively wriggled out from under him and pushed him gracelessly onto his back. Then she straddled his shocked face and leaned forward, licking assertively down the underside of his— _Merlin, yes —_substantial cock. “How about this instead?”

Draco grasped her hips reflexively. “Oh my— _fuck_. Granger, is this gonna be some sort of competitive sexual one-upmanship? Because I could—oh, fuck.” He stroked a thumb dangerously low over the cleft of her arse. “I could really get behind that.” 

Hermione swirled her tongue and sucked gently at the head of his cock, gratified to feel it throb in response. She ached to feel him inside her. Of course he would manage to be resplendent _everywhere_. 

“Draco. You've been tormenting me all night, and I'm dripping for you. Honest to Merlin, dripping.” He chuckled, and she gently scraped her teeth against the ridge, turning his amusement into a sharp gasp. “Please. Fucking stop talking and put your mouth on me.” 

His fingers spread her apart, opening her up to him. “Oh, you weren't lying. This is so fucking hot, Granger.” When he finally licked into her, she groaned with relief, hollowing her cheeks. She choked when his hips jerked slightly, and she swallowed before relaxing her throat and taking him as deeply as she could. “Ah, _yes,_ just like that.” The appreciative sounds he made as he tasted her were a revelation, and they soothed any self-consciousness she felt. “Mmm. Granger, you are positively decadent.”

Draco’s tongue explored with broad strokes, sweeping across her and delving inside. The wet heat was electrifying. She felt even more arousal trickle from her, and shivered as he lapped it up. Involuntary whimpers escaped her - he was driving her mad with pleasure as she sucked up and down the thick length of him. Desperately distracted, Hermione pulled off to pant for breath. She shamelessly rolled her hips against his face, seeking more pressure, clenching at the scrape of his stubble. He focused on her clit, alternating soft flicks of his tongue with teasing pauses until she trembled above him, losing herself in waves of blissful release.

Before she realized it, she was pliant and pinned beneath Draco again as he settled between her thighs. He balanced on his elbows, fingers tangling in curls as he cupped the back of her head with both hands. He kissed her, slow and sweet and devastatingly thorough. She didn’t think she’d ever forget the reverent way he scanned her face and took her in. 

“Merlin, Granger. I hope that took the edge off.” He pressed his forehead to hers, breathing heavily—a warm, lime-tinged reminder of how the evening started. “Do you want to keep going?” 

When she nodded, he kissed her again, heated, but punctuated with soft and endearing pecks as he cast a wandless contraceptive charm. “Maybe now you’ll let me take my time with you.” 

She huffed a laugh, but he slid wholly inside her, and the delicious, aching stretch stole her breath. This was the most overwhelming fullness she’d experienced. Draco set an unhurried pace, stroking into her languidly. 

“Am I allowed to talk again, Granger? Because I’ve been dreaming of this. You’re so beautiful, Hermione. Just—fucking _perfect,_ like this. Drenched and ready for me, but still so unbelievably tight. It’s like I was made just to fit you.” He rocked into her over and over, adjusting his angle and introducing more friction exactly where she needed it. No one had ever said anything like this to her before, and his words were intoxicating. 

“My filthiest fucking fantasies—oh, they’re depraved, sweetheart, trust me—and you’re still better than anything I’ve imagined.” He mouthed at her neck, sucking hard enough to bruise. Hermione felt marvelous tension building in her again, and she whimpered uncontrollably as her fingers dug into the planes of his back. 

“Can you come again, Granger? That was a nice surprise you gave me earlier,” he panted. “No complaints. But I still haven’t watched your face as I take you apart.” He drove into her with increased intensity, sinking completely and dragging out slowly. “You feel incredible, Hermione. I want to see you come on my cock. Oh, you’ve been so good for me. Such a good girl.”

 _Oh. Oh, that’s definitely a thing for me,_ she thought faintly, as his adulation pushed her over the edge again. She held him close, keening as he fucked her through it. It was such a relief to feel so good, and to let Draco take care of her without having to think about it.

“Thank fuck,” he gasped, holding her gaze with liquid silver eyes. His thrusts became more erratic, hips snapping until finally he shuddered, keeping himself buried deep as he pulsed and spilled into her. “First impressions are important.”

Hermione choked back a tired giggle as Draco rolled onto his side, each of them panting for breath. He pulled her close, propping himself on one elbow. 

“That was a very good impression. I didn’t even know I liked that...um, when you called me a good girl.” Hermione squirmed, somehow slightly embarrassed despite everything they’d just done.

Draco pushed back slightly to examine her face. “You didn’t know _you_ had a praise kink? I’d have bet on that back in school.” He brought her hand to his lips, kissing her knuckles and laughing softly. “Well, it’ll be easy to explore. You’re fucking spectacular.”

Hermione felt a rush of warmth, both at the discovery of something she liked so much, and that Draco seemed happy to indulge it. “So who won the sexual one-upmanship?”

“We both won, Granger.” He rolled onto his back and exhaled shakily. She could feel his heart thudding as she lay her head against his chest. “Merlin fuck.” 


	5. Chapter 5

_Saturday, August 14, 2004_

Hermione woke up with Draco spooned around her, warm and enticing. She was sorely tempted to talk him into a shower with her, especially after he rediscovered the most sensitive place on her neck, sucking persistently at her as his strong arms held her close. But there wasn’t enough time before they each needed to be at work. He kissed her goodbye, murmuring “You were more than worth the wait, Granger.” 

She’d just put the kettle on when she heard the Floo activate again, but it was Harry. “Hi,” he said. “I’m guessing you haven’t seen the paper.” 

She took it from him as he said, “Now, let’s not panic.” She didn’t have to unfold it to see the headline.

**GRANGER AND MALFOY HEIR TAKE SCANDALOUS AFFAIR PUBLIC IN TAWDRY DISPLAY**

Looping photos showed them entering the club, and worse, licking salt off of each other. Thank Merlin for disillusionment charms, she thought.

“Some of the early shift are encouraging Ron to challenge Malfoy to a duel.”

She tore her eyes away from the paper, startled. “He's not actually going to, is he?”

“Of course not. But you should talk to him.”

She sighed heavily. “I'll take care of it. Thanks for the warning, Harry.”

Harry stared at her resignedly, taking in her disheveled appearance. “He's up there, isn't he. Fuck. Theo bet me he would be.”

She snickered. “Not anymore. What does Theo lose?”

“All our bets are win-win. I just don’t like being wrong.”

* * *

She jotted a note to Draco in her journal, giving him a heads-up before he went into work. Then she sent an owl to Ron, asking him to meet her for lunch. She suggested they go somewhere Muggle for privacy—not that the strategy had worked out for her the night before—but he chose the Leaky.

He was there when she arrived, and she dropped into a chair across from him. She cast _Muffliato_ , attempting to ignore the chatter and cameras through the window.

“Hey. I’m sorry about your morning. First, I just want to tell you…”

“You don't owe me any explanations, Hermione.” Her full name alone displayed a degree of formality. 

“I know I'm not obligated. I _want_ you to know - nothing ever happened with Draco and I, before we ended things. I’d never have done that to you.”

“I know you wouldn’t.” He stared fixedly at the menu for a moment, as though he hadn’t been there hundreds of times. “Were you in love with him, though?”

“No.” She hesitated, putting her thoughts together. “As far as Draco and I knew, we were both engaged. I didn’t have anyone waiting in the wings, and I didn't go testing the water first. I ended it for you and I.”

Ron’s shoulders relaxed. “I knew you'd never cheat. And believe it or not, I know he wouldn't do that to me either, though I think he’s probably been at least a little bit in love with you for a long time. I just didn't know if you had fallen for him, though. That's all I've really wondered.” He sighed. “I'm not brokenhearted. I know things weren't great between us. I just loved you enough to stay anyway…”

Hermione flinched.

“No, that's...I don't mean I loved you more. Or better. Just—my way of loving you would have been to stay, because after the forest, I'd never have left you again. And your way of loving me was to not put us through a lifetime of forcing something that wasn't there. Thank you for loving me enough to do that. Because I was never going to be able to.”

She felt a bit choked up about their circumstances for the first time. Hermione was good at moving forward. Other than her deep-seated guilt over her parents, she didn’t hold onto the past and let it linger, or second-guess her decisions. But the surprisingly profound way Ron parsed the end of their relationship and acknowledged the love they had for each other touched her.

“I do miss you,” he continued. “But it's mostly our friendship, which will get less awkward. And having someone to come home to. People have been convincing me that the easiest way to get past it is to, uh…”

“Get under someone else?” she smirked at him, genuinely delighted that he broached the subject.

“I won't talk about this with you,” he said firmly. “And not a word about you and Malfoy.”

She couldn’t think of a conversation she’d less like to have with him. “Would never dream of it.” 

“Anyway, Gin set me up with a friend of a Harpy, and I've been talking with a few other girls, and...it's going to be fine.” He smiled at her. “It's going to be great.” 

“I'm really happy for you, Ron.” It was easy to say. She didn’t feel a hint of jealousy, only a genuine hope that he would find a good match. 

“Mum's coming around, too.” He eyed Hermione's skeptical look. “No, really. I told her what I told you—about the different ways of loving each other.” 

“And she understood?”

“Mostly. But she understands that you're always going to be in my life. You’ll always be at my birthday, you know? If you can’t be there, it won’t be at my parent’s house. She knows she's going to have to stop being angry with my best friend for cutting me loose.”

“Ron.”

“It's true, 'Mione. It's hard for Mum to apologize, but she will. I know for a fact you'll be invited to Gin’s birthday next month, and I hope you'll come. Bring Malfoy. 

She wrinkled her nose. "Really?"

“Yeah. I mean, try not to climb all over him or anything, but I ask that of Harry and Theo, too. You'll probably be more successful. So. Bring him. He and I are good.” 

She looked at him contemplatively. “I think it's going to be harder for the rest of the world to understand than it is for us.”

“Well, they can piss off. Besides, now that we've talked, I'll make my next date glaringly public. That ought to take the heat off you a bit.”

She burst into laughter. “Don't do anything you don't want to on my account.”

Ron winked at her and she saw, objectively, the handsome face of the boy she fell for a long time ago. It was easier to appreciate now that she didn't have to pretend to feel things she didn't. And when he told her, "Being part of the Golden Trio still has its perks. I don't think it's going to be a hardship to find a pretty witch to keep company with," she knew he was right. 

* * *

_October 2004_

They had a memorable first movie night in the actual cinema. They watched a film Hermione can’t recall, because she spent the first ten minutes on her knees between Draco’s legs before he let out a strangled hiss and Apparated them to her flat. It was still her own, but he stayed over as often as she asked. 

She lay curled against him in the moonlight, tracing idle patterns on his chest with her fingertips. 

“Do you ever worry that I'll start feeling like that again—like I did with Ron?” she asked suddenly. She had lingering doubt in herself. Hermione was afraid that once the newness wore off, she’d find herself wondering how they fit together.

“No,” he answered immediately. He had the drowsy, smoky voice she’d come to associate with these moments, wrapped up in the dark after taking each other apart in all the best ways. 

“Why not?” 

“Did you ever feel like this with him? Or anyone else?”

“No.” _Not even close._

“Neither have I. This is...it’s not your average alchemy, Granger.”

She snuggled in closer to him. 

“But if you ever do, tell me. We'll talk about it, and it'll work or it won't. I don't ever want you doing anything with me, or to me, or for me”—he stroked fingers down her bare side—“that you aren't completely, _utterly,_ enthusiastic about. Okay?” 

She relaxed under his warm hand, his heartbeat a steady reassurance. “Okay.”

* * *

_January 2005_

Ron had indeed discovered that there was no shortage of interested females, and he took up with a lovely, slightly vapid, but very sweet girl a few years younger. Anne happened to be the daughter of the Cannon’s manager—a boon for Ron that amused everyone. 

When the Prophet broke the news of her pregnancy after they’d been dating for just a few months, the headlines were unkind. But Anne was glowing, and Ron appeared lovestruck at the thought of starting a family with her. 

After they officially confirmed it, Rita stopped Hermione on her way out of St Mungo's. “Care to comment, Ms Granger? Anything you want to share about the shocking news of your former flame?”

"Sure," she said. 

Rita dropped her quill. 

"I'm so happy for them." Hermione couldn’t stop the smile from lighting up her face, even in Rita’s presence. “Their baby is going to be gorgeous, and so loved. I can't wait to meet them." 

The next morning, Hermione stood at the table and unfolded the paper as she waited for her tea. She examined her picture—she looked just as genuinely happy as she’d known she would. She hoped it would make things easier on Ron. 

Strong arms circled her from behind. “Good morning,” Draco rasped in her ear. He read the news over her shoulder and took in the looping image. “Looks like Rita got something right for once.” 

He mouthed at her neck gently, then more insistently—the kind of delicious, toe-curling, bruise-inducing kiss she'd have to remember to spell away. Draco loved to see the marks she let him leave, and he absolutely wouldn't remind her to remove them. 

He turned her around and swept the paper to the floor. Then he whispered a wandless cushioning charm, pushed her back onto the table and Vanished her knickers. 

“What are you doing?” She squealed with laughter.

“Breakfast is the most important meal of the day, Hermione.” He settled into her chair and spread her legs wide, looping his arms under her thighs and pressing her hips down to hold her in place. “Now I want you to be a good girl, and try to stay still for me.”

* * *

_August 2005_

The following summer, Draco suggested a different activity on movie night. “Let's go bowling, for old time's sake.”

She eyed him skeptically, but he did almost always let her choose the movie. “Neither of us are any good, but I’ll keep you company.”

Right out of the gate, Draco bowled a beautiful strike. Hermione clapped for him, a bit patronizingly. “Way to get back up on the horse.”

When he rolled a second strike on the next frame, she gave him a look. “You’re certainly having a lucky streak tonight.” He just smiled at her. 

Hermione took her turn, knocking down five pins, followed by a gutterball. 

After Draco delivered his third strike in a row—mercifully absent from any sort of celebratory dance—her jaw dropped. 

“What the fuck, Draco?”

He gave her a classic Malfoy smirk. “I'm fucking brilliant at bowling. Just like everything else.” 

Humble as ever. Then his crooked smile bloomed into a grin. 

“I just wanted an excuse to spend more time with you.”

* * *

_July 2006_

Hermione reclined on a bench in Blaise’s vineyard, eyes closed, head in Draco’s lap. It was still one of the most peaceful places she’d ever been, and a sanctuary on what could have been one of the hardest days of her life. When she noticed her arm felt exceedingly warm, she opened her eyes, and realized he’d tucked her journal next to her.

“Did you write me a note, sitting right next to me?” She tilted her head to look up at him from his lap. “No one would believe what a romantic you can be.” She flipped opened the journal, magically expanded to hold the thousands of words they’d shared. On the last page, she saw a breathtaking charcoal sketch of a house. She sat up abruptly and turned to face him on the bench. 

“It’s not what you think—or at least, it doesn’t have to be,” he said quickly. “There’s no pressure. I just want you to _know_ I want to be with you, whatever that looks like. Maybe it’s continued companionship, or an elopement, or a wedding someday. If you want that. I don’t give a fuck about meeting my family’s expectations of an heir. If you want children, I think I could be the best parent possible with you as my partner. But I also see an alternate timeline where we have a very fulfilled life without them.” He took a deep breath.

“I just...you’ve got me now, Granger. I can’t say no to anything that will make you happy. You changed the course of my life, and nothing has ever felt as good as being in love with you. I don’t need milestones, and I don’t mind taking things slow. I just want to build a life together.”

He looked at her, hesitant. “If this is too much—”

“Shhh.” Hermione pressed fingers to his lips. She stared in awe at the drawing again, delicately brushing a thumb over an image that could have been plucked from her own mind. She couldn’t stop the smile that stretched across her face. Then she snapped the journal shut, clasping it to her chest. “Take me home, Draco.”


End file.
